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Losing Sarah, and finding Wali ul Asr

The Holy Prophet (peace
and blessings upon him) is quoted in Lantern of the Path, ‘there is a light in
the heart which is illuminated only by following the truth and intending
towards the right path. It is a part of the light of the prophets which has
been entrusted in the hearts of the believers.’

If ever there was a hadith that described my understanding
of her, I believe with all my heart, it is the one above. I cannot recall where
or how I learned of her passing. Just that I was unable to bear it, that this
funeral was one I could not miss — I had to mourn, else I would go mad.

Sarah Batool Zaidi

It made no sense. At a
mere 29 years old, principal of the first Shi’a high school in North America,
this woman, this sister, having devoted her most beautiful, youthful years in
service of the pure, immaculate Ahlulbayt (peace and blessings upon them), had
left the world stranded. One after another, members in the community stood up
to speak of her dedication to the mission of Wali ul Asr (Learning Institute),
of her devotion to the mission of the Ahlulbayt (A), of her kindness and care
towards peers and students alike, of her close, personal connection with Aba
Abdillah Imam al-Husayn (A).

To this day, and even as I
write this, her having passed away fills me with an incomprehensible grief — a
grief I am unable to contain, let alone understand.

I, who had never even met
the sister. What unrelenting hole would she then have left in the hearts of
loved ones near and dear, of students who cherished her every word, of peers
who were devoted to her, of family who saw her face day in, and day out?

And just how much would
Lady Fatima (A) have yearned to receive this most beautiful, most blessed
servant of Allah, on the other side?

I remember distinctly that
dim-lit sisters section of the Al-Mahdi Islamic Centre, where alongside others,
I wailed like a madwoman. For madness it was, wrenching her good, kind soul away
like that, from us all. A friend of her mother’s put a hand on my shoulder, and
asked me to have courage, to look at her mother, and instead, to imagine her
sorrow. Ashamed at her having to turn away from family and console me, I began praying
in an attempt to calm myself.

True, untainted purpose

About two years younger
than the brilliance in both dunya and
akherah departments that Sarah was,
here I sat, having just about nothing of relevant spiritual service to account
for. Good grades, good school, good work experience, however, in the way of
Allah and for His cause, was nowhere on my resume. A few scattered attempts in
the community hardly counted. Missing also was purpose. True, untainted
purpose.

Did Allah really bless me
with the gifts that He had just so I could eventually manage an advertising production
studio like the amazing Steve at my previous workplace? I sure seemed to have a
knack for it, and had been working hard to learn the craft under his
supervision.

Or in a more recent move
to teaching adult ESL, change South Korean lives by helping young,
international students learn the intricacies of the English language? I seemed
to have a knack for that too, intermediate knowledge of Hangul (Korean
alphabet) and Hangukeo (Korean language), enough teaching experience on the
side, and was working towards a certification in TESOL.

But would that be enough?
Would that do justice to those gifts, and be done with it?

The transition was a
result of my exasperation, my months of contemplating the fruit of empty work,
my isolation in the corporate world – a world devoid entirely of substance, ruthless,
and greedy only for more and ever more.

But it was not one taken entirely
in His way. It was ridden with self-interest, towards appeasing the ‘self,’ and
perhaps even an almost perverse pleasure in having command over a language
others found baffling, and at times, hopelessly beyond their means. Taken with
purpose, sure, but taken with a purpose already tainted.

Thaqalayn Muslim Association

Very early on during my
undergrad, I had received a Facebook invite to a meeting — having successfully hosted
an Ashura Awareness Week the previous academic year, a small group of Shi’a
brothers and sisters were getting together to plan a second one. Ryerson
University had yet to establish a chapter of the TMA at the time, but the group
had been working actively under the guidance of the association’s lead, Brother
Muhammad Habash.

The second Ashura
Awareness Week gave way to weekly meetings, discussions on sermons and sayings
in the Nahj ul Balaghah and other religious literature, and a most beautiful (equal
parts spiritual and intellectual) bond of brotherhood and sisterhood, which
even in the heart of a campus downtown, and surrounded with every kind of
superficial distraction imaginable, consciously served to bring us closer to the
Almighty.

When I learned of Sarah’s
involvement with the association, the timeframe of which (surprisingly, so
close to mine) only further cemented the connection that I have always felt
with her. However, while the close of her academic career gave way to her life
in service at Wali ul Asr, mine (for whatever myriad of reasons) had led me on
a path quite different.

That night of her funeral felt
like I was drowning, as though oxygen would fail me at any moment now — for the
life’s work of my dearly beloved sister Sarah had been the exact picture I had
so long been looking for, to paint my own life as. I promised Allah, and
pleaded to Him in the same breath. I promised to clean my heart of all
contamination of purpose, and pleaded to Him to help me find my way in His
service, just as He had paved the way for her efforts.

I pleaded to Him for Wali
ul Asr.

Wali ul Asr

And, I began seeking.
Actively seeking. I immersed myself in learning about the school, its mission
and vision, its academic and spiritual standards and how it managed to incorporate
those on a Ministry of Education level, without losing crucial sense of core,
divine purpose. I spoke to anyone and everyone who I found had been at some
point, or was currently associated with the school, with employees, volunteers,
parents, and students alike. I began following all of its events, activities,
and programs on social media.

In between those
conversations, and my attempts to evaluate in which of its very many, and
equally fascinating departments I would be able to serve best, I also wondered
an obsessive lot about whether I was even worthy of such a blessed place, of
such ibadah. Many months later, a
chance meeting with Sheikh Salim Yusufali — who is also head of the school — at
an Iranian Islamic Centre of Imam Ali youth event brought to light the
significance of waswasa (repeated,
unfounded doubts or fears), and how one of Satan’s many devices was to divert
sincere intention away from action, and towards inaction.

Because of, and ever since,
my employment at the school, the extended periods of spiritual relief, mental
and physical contentment, an unquantifiable increase in my learning, and the
peace in my sleep, all demand at least fifteen hundred words of their own. It
suffices (could anything ever?) to conclude meanwhile, that for me, life is
Wali ul Asr is life.

Active worship

Imam Ali (A), is quoted in
the education and conduct section of The Sayings and Wisdom of Imam Ali,
‘knowledge calls out for action: if it responds to the call, then it remains…
otherwise it moves away from it.’

Worship is active. It is
not passive. Just how fair to our striving souls though, is measuring — and
determining as potentially unworthy — an act of ours that we have yet to even
begin practicing? We can measure neither depth nor sincerity nor that which is
on the surface of the intention.

Whether it is in service
of our Lord, or that which is our duty to Him, for any worship to bear divine
fruit, we must start somewhere — and start not just anywhere, but only where
there is a clear right path, structure, or model, to which we can devote
ourselves to (even if just as those miniscule bits in engineering that help in
gaining momentum) in the grand, spiritually conscious scheme of things.

If the purpose is divine,
it will reign. These infamous words of the Grand Ayatollah Khomeini had been
uploaded to Sarah’s Facebook profile only a short while before her return to
the Almighty. Words to which I return often.

Often, when doubt springs
a tumult down how acutely aware I am of inadequacies of the self, of all the
very many deficiencies in skill, in character, in tact, that I feel render my
efforts towards the school quite distressing. Often, when I quiet these very
doubts with thoughts of the plain and plentiful delight, the satiation of the
soul that my work now brings. Often, when I remind myself of how wasteful, even
if lacking, my existence and my perseverance in His beautiful creation is no
longer.

And reign, it will; for
the purpose of Wali ul Asr (both, the school, and the Hujjah of our time, may
Allah hasten his reappearance) is divine
— and part, however undeserving of which, I must do mine.